Tag: Primroses

When the stretch comes in the evenings in January, primroses are always on my mind and my eyes speed read every possible ditch, in search of that joyous yellow with the velvety scent.

You don’t expect to find primroses on working harbours like Dunmore East, here in Co, Waterford, but lo and behold I found one there yesterday ~ albeit navy and white!

Floating ‘Primrose’ at Dunmore East

My heart missed a beat when I saw her and then went on to miss another when I found that she was from Drogheda, the town of my youth and schooling in the North-East of the country that is built on the Boyne Estuary.

So, so many times, we went looking primroses back then, especially Mother and me. She would clamber up onto all sorts of ditches, beating back briars, in the kinds of places that primroses flourish. She used to laugh at me and say that I was a pessimist who lived in fear of seeing a dead rat in the ditches rather than glowing primroses. I have to admit there was quite a bit of truth in her opinion of me back then.

But, we can change, especially if led by example!

Spurred on by Primrose from Drogheda, I was fired up to find even the first signs of wild primroses today and my journey wasn’t in vain. Co. Waterford served up her first primrose of my year out on the ‘road to the sea.’

Spring has definitely sprung!

Precious Primroses

And I must tell you that while I was driving along, I got to thinking about the relationship between shadows and reflections. I still haven’t worked it out fully but clearly the sun has a lot to do with it.

Here’s how Dunmore East was reflecting yesterday with the Lighthouse, built in 1824, looking magnificent both above and below water:

I just tossed everything aside today and went out to greet Spring or should I say that she came to greet me?

First stop was what I’ve christened the ‘Primrose Road’ where the view of the fields was greener than green:

Green Green Grass of Home

and there they were:

Sweet Scented Primroses

Out by Fenor Bog, one word on a magnificent woodcarving in the graveyard of Fenor Church caught my eye:

Hope is something we all need in life and I guess that each and every one of us has a duty to spread as much hope, in even the tiniest ways, to try and ease the way for those who are caught in a quagmire of hopelessness. That quagmire can seize any of us in the blink of an eye.

Nature was certainly playing her part in singing hope for me today. Is any sight more uplifting than clusters of snowdrops …

As an out and out romantic, I am a real Valentine’s Day person and wasn’t a bit surprised to wake to a sun-filled day here in Tramore with the garden looking like a gleaming bouquet; two thrushes perched on the budding lilac tree and the camellia bathed in pink blossom. Spring in the air and in my step ~ thoughts of a swim in the sea and romantic dinner with candles …..

The second I glimpsed the garden, my thoughts went to a dear friend who is the ultimate lover of nature and who spent many hours helping me with the garden over the years. It would be heaven to be out there chatting to him about the great show of snowdrops this year and get his advice about what on earth to do with the the ivy that has taken up residence ~ and looks lovely ~ in the utility room.

But alas, this warm-hearted man lies sleeping as he edges ever closer towards death from a vicious cancer that grabbed him a few months back. More than anyone I’ve ever met, he has faced up to death with an openness and acceptance that is quite incredible. He wants to savor every minute that is left but says that dying is as natural as being born; as natural as the sun rising and setting; ripe fruit falling from a tree …..

He is surrounded by the love of family and friends. His concern is about them and not himself. To me, he is the epitome of what true love and Valentine’s Day are all about.

He knows that he won’t be out and around to see the primroses light up the shady corners of the countryside ever again. But he is one who treasured all nature had to give when he was able and loved and continues to love from a depth that few even know.

One of my most vivid memories from childhood is gathering wild flowers with my mother to enter a competition at Castlebayney Agricultural Show back in the 1960s. It was a happy, happy time and, even though I was very young, I knew that Mother was enjoying the adventure just as much as I was.

Mother died almost three years ago, aged 88, and today I unearthed an article which she wrote around the time that we were collecting the wild flowers. Reading it, I became acutely aware of just how deeply she appreciated nature and how it is no coincidence that the re-emergence of wild flowers, especially in spring, is so fundamentally important to me. Here is what she wrote:

Flowers, especially wild flowers, played a large part in my childhood in Co. Meath. In the woods at home grew masses of snowdrops, under the trees, making the winter woodlands beautiful with their dainty white flowers among dark green ivy leaves. Oh, the thrill of the first snowdrop. To know that spring was on its way, and soon my beloved woods would be awakening from their winter slumbers. My birthday is in late January, and perhaps that is why I loved the snowdrops so much. They were my special flower. I would search the woods diligently, and always succeeded in finding enough to decorate the table for my birthday tea. After I left home, my mother never failed to include a tiny bunch of snowdrops in my birthday parcel. Snowdrops have always been synonomous with home to me, and although I have moved home umpteen times, I always plant a few snowdrop bulbs in each new garden.

Then there were the lesser celandines. There was a wood at home which was completely carpeted with them. Surprisingly early in the year, not long after the snowdrops were in bloom, that particular wood was filled with birdsong, sunshine, the tender green leaves of the celandines, and the little golden flowers.

And then came the primroses; primroses and baby chicks are always associated in my mind. They both arrive around Easter time and are the same delicious pale yellow. There was a stream at home which ran between very steep, sloping banks on which great clumps of primroses grew. Primroses abounded in the woods as well, but I loved to pick them on the banks of the stream. There was always a distinct danger of falling in, and of course this added to the fun. There were periwinkles in the woods too. They made a lovely posy, their tender blue toning beautifully with the pale yellow primroses.

In a dark corner of a laurel grove grew a few shy wood anenomes. Never enough to pick, but I had to visit them each year and admire the few precious blossoms.

Bluebells and beech trees go together, and the bluebells are in blossom just as those beautiful fresh young beech leaves unfold. To me, there are few lovelier sights than a carpet of bluebells dappled by the sunshine in a beech wood.

Cowslips were not very plentiful in our part of the country, but there was one field where they flourished. I used to make a pilgrimage to see the cowslips every year. I remember a grown-up explaining to me how to make a cowslip ball. I was horrified. How anyone could do that to my lovely cowslips!

I always prefer to see flowers growing, and when I do pick them I like to pick them here and there so that they will not be missed. Lilac grew in the woods, too. There was one big lilac bush in the wood by the river. Oh, the scent of that lilac with the dew on it, on a warm May morning.

We always went to stay with my grandmother in the early summer. She lived in Co. Kildare, and when I think of going there I think of dog-roses. The road from the station was always bathed in sunshine, with blue mountains in the distance, and the hedges simply covered with dog-roses and honeysuckle. And in the tillage fields on either side of the road, there were wild red poppies. I know farmers don’t like wild poppies much, but I loved them. Oh, let me have dog-roses and honeysuckle and poppies for my holidays. Nothing in all the travel brochures can give me such a thrill.